Life is Made Up of Moments
by fallenstarsandfiredemons
Summary: A collection of CS drabbles, some angsty, some fluffy.
1. It's Not Okay

Her eyes are burning. It's strange. She can't remember the last time she felt so much pain. It's like her insides are coming undone. She looks up at the sky, sees the full moon, remembers a time when she stood in her house, when she heard the words she'd yearned for.

The moonlight reflects off the blade in her hands. She looks down at the names etched in the steel. Killian Jones. Emma Swan. The names are difficult to read through the tears blurring her vision.

 _You have to do it_.

She takes it, looks into his eyes-so blue, so frightened, but brave. Brave for her, for them.

The words are mouthed through stiff lips. _It's okay._

But as she pushes forward, like a hurricane or a tidal wave, she can only think no, it is not okay.

It's never going to be okay again.


	2. Flowers in Your Hair

It's the way the light catches the gold on a sunny day. He isn't one to let the quiet moments pass and this one, much like the last, is meant to be individually treasured for what makes it special, filed away and kept locked in the box of memories that grows fuller with each passing minute.

Today it's the gold. Her hair is draped over his arm where it rests in the grass, cushioned amongst the verdant green. His fingers sift through the strands, careful not to pull, lest he wake their owner.

Her nose twitches and he holds a finger to it, stopping the sneeze. Her eyes remain shut and breathing returns to normal. He sighs deeply: was he ever more content?

The sun shines down on them from where they lay in the middle of the meadow. A cloud passes by, offering a moment of shade, and he glances at her from the corner of his eye. The gold looks more like butter now, smooth and creamy. He plucks one of the tiny blue flowers that grow in the meadow, forget-me-nots, he thinks, and places it delicately among the strands. He finds more among the patch where his hand rests. Soon the gold is dotted with blue, like stars amidst a golden dawn.

The sun comes back once he's completed his labors, and the gold is given a chance to shine once again. And he imagines, amidst the simple beauty of it all, that it's the only gold he'll ever want for all the days to come.


	3. Starlight in Your Eyes

When they're on the ship, he's different. Himself, but more...fulfilled. It's their special place to go on starry nights when they want to get away, leave the world behind and pretend they alone exist.

They sit on the side, his arm around her shoulders and hers around his waist. He points to constellations and tells her the stories behind each one. She makes a point to capture every detail, the way his hair seems to float gently in the wind, how his mouth quirks up at certain points in his tales, the way his hand strokes her leg, her face, her hair.

But mostly what captivates her is how his eyes seem to sparkle, to reflect the stars, even when he gazes down at her. She's never felt more mesmerized in her life, and when his hand cups her face, caressing it ever so softly, when his eyes flutter closed and she feels hers do the same, and finally when his lips touch hers, she doesn't know how to feel except, happy, elated, content.

How is ecstasy summed up with mere words? Is it ever?

She decides no. So she remembers each and every sensation, but more than anything she remembers the stars in his eyes and the joy reflected there, that touches her straight to her core and the heart that no longer belongs to her alone. She doesn't think she's ever been more willing to share something in her life.


	4. Dewdrops on Your Skin

Coming together is always a journey. It's coming home after being apart, whether it's been hours or minutes, days or weeks.

And every time is different, special.

The first time they were both nervous. Their hands shook and their faces flushed.

The second time his hook caught her arm, pulling them into a heap on the floor.

But they remembered each moment fondly. And it only ever got better.

The most memorable time (so far), was in the forest. Kissing had led to caressing, and before they knew it they were in the freshly wet grass, dew on their skin, in their hair, as they laughed and smiled into each other's mouths.

They came together, like every other time, with bliss in their eyes and love in their hearts.

And in the aftermath, their fingers traced the dewdrops, drawing patterns and designs into each other's skin, making their marks, belonging to each other.


	5. Light In Your Hands

He'd hated magic. It had ruined his life more than once. He'd hated it, and then he'd been indifferent, when it served his purposes.

She changed his views.

Her magic was special, not dark and twisted, but light and warm, beautiful and bright.

The light in her hands, coming off her fingertips makes him smile now. She uses it for small things, like healing paper cuts and making hot chocolate appear. It's beautiful in its simplicity

He likes the smell of it, too. Cinnamon and sea. He asks her what it smells like one day and she laughs, saying it's leather and spice.

They're quite the pair, he thinks, as he watches her hands make light in the air, fluttering and flicking the firefly glow. She does it for her brother, who laughs in delight and tries to catch the pieces that fall from her fingertips.

Later, she does it for him. They're at home on the front porch, and the night is quiet and still. The dark welcomes the light like an old friend as she traces patterns in the air, drawing a ship, a beanstalk, a flower, a compass. He reaches up and touches it, watching it spin and spin, spiraling out into sparks that hit him softly and bounce off his face, feeling like tiny bits of warmth.

She catches his hand and rubs it between hers before bringing it to her face and breathing softly. The heat starts at his hand and moves to his core. He can feel the light warming his heart. He stares at the minute ball of light in his hand, purely energy, a life force that's been created between them, meant to be treasured and protected.

Yes, magic is beautiful now. He can never go back to thinking otherwise.


	6. To Yearn, Perchance to Know

He discovers that there are many things about the Land Without Magic that he enjoys: Netflix, onion rings, cell phones, indoor plumbing. But it isn't until he's been there for a couple of years and things have (relatively) settled down, that he discovers something quite miraculous.

The Land Without Magic's literature is spectacular. And none more so than a bloke called Shakespeare.

He discovers the bard one day on a visit to the library. He's perusing the shelves for something to read and coming up empty. He's either read it or has no desire to. Of course, Belle swoops in and hands him a large tome (damn thing weighed 10 pounds) and tells him he'll like it. He looks at the cover: _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_.

Read it, he does. The entire bloody thing.

Like it? He loves it. Well, most of it.

His favorite is _Hamlet_ , which Belle informs him most people like for its depth and ambiguity. His second favorite is _Much Ado About Nothing_ , for Benedict rather reminds him of himself, and Beatrice's feistiness is rather like Emma. After that he finds that while he enjoys most of the works, the comedies especially, some of the plays confound him- _Romeo and Juliet_ , for example.

Belle laughs when he tells her about it. "I'm surprised you didn't enjoy it. Two lovers separated by circumstance, it's really quite romantic."

"Bloody hell. They both die. It's got to be the worst story I've ever read. Not to mention that Romeo is a fool. He starts out in love with Rosaline and then immediately abandons her for Juliet, who he'd only just met."

Belle smiles and shrugs. "Interpretation is everything."

He muses over her words later as he's re-reading his favorites. He finds that he can see new meanings and insights each time he goes back through. He memorizes some sonnets and practices saying them in front of the mirror at home while Emma is out.

And one day when they're sitting by the water, watching the waves splash against the shore and the sunset sink slowly into the horizon, the words slip out.

 _Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_

 _Thou art more lovely and more temperate:_

 _Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,_

 _And summer's lease hath all too short a date:_

 _Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,_

 _And too often is his gold complexion dimm'd:_

 _And every fair from fair sometimes declines,_

 _By chance or natures changing course untrimm'd;_

 _By thy eternal summer shall not fade,_

 _Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;_

 _Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,_

 _When in eternal lines to time thou growest:_

 _So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,_

 _So long lives this and this gives life to thee._

Her eyes had turned to him when he began, and now they were wide and seemed to be brimming with tears. She reached out to cup his cheek and he placed his hand over hers, leaning into her touch.

"I guess I should've known you would be a Shakespeare kinda guy."

"Well, love, the man did have a way with words."

"That he did. And he isn't the only one." She leaned forward and he met her halfway, smiling against her lips. Yes, Shakespeare had done something right.


	7. Flames, Like Passion

This journey, like the first, is special. Their story is coming full circle, and it all seems so appropriate that they should meet and go on an adventure, and here, at the end of all things, make one last trip together, just them.

He knows the stakes are high. He knows he might not survive this with her, that he might have to say goodbye, but he can't bring himself to care.

Because this is just like then. She's so strong, so determined, so passionate. And this time it's for him. All for him.

And when the time comes for him to let her go, to say goodbye, he does, though it breaks his heart into a million pieces, what's left from their last parting and barely pieced back together since they'd been reunited.

She doesn't want to say goodbye. He knew she wouldn't. But he wipes her tears, just as he feels his own brimming to the surface, and he kisses her lips, wet with saltwater. He tastes the cinnamon on her breath and inhales the sweet fragrance of her hair one last time.

The test is true love. It seems almost silly, for he's never doubted his love, and he's learned not to doubt hers, but the universe is funny, inexplicable, mysterious, and some things, like this, just can't be explained. He doesn't know how to express the love he feels so deeply to his core, like a fire in his blood, with words. He only has this moment to show her what she's meant to him, how wonderful she's made his life, how he wouldn't trade their time together, however short, for an eternity.

Letting go, with these feelings burning in his veins, is the most difficult moment of his life. He watches her disappear as he's engulfed in the inferno. He waits for the end, death beyond death, and prays to whatever deity might listen that it will be quick, and she won't have to suffer his loss.

When the flames recede, he's still there, still whole. The cavern has calmed and Emma is before him, on her knees, shoulders shaking.

He reaches out and touches her. "Swan."

The look on her face makes him burn. And as their lips meet, sending out a wave of magic, he knows the inner fire will never abate, never dim, as long as he has her. And if the universe is finally on their side, this time it will be forever.


	8. The Only Unbreakable Thing

It's after everyone has gone inside Granny's and it's just them, alone at last, that she starts thinking, really thinking about what she wants.

If the numerous deaths and goodbyes weren't enough, the latest separation, and how it could have potentially ended, hit her hard. When her parents and Killian had appeared in the fountain she'd been…shocked, tearful, joyous, and so many other things. She hadn't known what to think or feel. She still wasn't sure how to situate herself into this new situation.

For right at that moment, there was nothing new happening. No monster chasing them, no fireball trying to kill them, no curse threatening their memories, no portal attempting to separate them across worlds.

And it's for that simple reason, that _peace_ , so rare a thing in this town, that she feels the need to cement this moment and make her declaration.

Gathering courage, she walks with him, hand held tightly in his, swinging slightly with their steps. Just under the arch, she stops, drawing his attention.

"Killian, I was thinking…"

He quirks an eyebrow, a gentle and encouraging smile on his face. "Aye, love?"

"After everything that's happened…I want to stop backtracking." She watches his mouth open to respond, placing her finger against his lips to stop the words escaping. Looking him directly in the eye, she tells him. "You're my happy ending. You and my parents and Henry. And, I just…I love you." His eyes soften and he grips her hand tightly, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles. "I promise to always love you and that I'm done running away from this. I want a future with you, in that house you picked out, and I want it to be forever." Before she can say another word, he's picked her up and claimed her lips. And moving past her sudden surprise, she has enough presence of mind to recognize the _fairy tale_ element of it all, and lets her foot pop, like a girl in a romantic movie.

She feels her feet settle to the pavement a few moments later, her lips still clinging to his. After a moment, he pulls back, their foreheads touching as they breathe each other in, the setting sun shining on their faces and illuminating their silhouettes.

No words are exchanged, for none are needed. When you've been to hell and back, literally, when you've lost and found the love of your life, what can you say?

 _Who knows_ , Emma thinks, caressing his face. _At the end of the day, this is what's real. Love_ , she thinks, _is the only unbreakable thing in all the realms_. And looking into his eyes, she knows that the reason love endures, persists, overcomes all obstacles, that it has the ability to change people for better or worse, and heal all wounds, is because of those like them, because of those who believe in its magic.


	9. For my next trick

_Killian is a magician. Emma is his assistant. Light-ish Smut._

Killian had been a magician for years. He'd known Emma almost as long. She became his assistant after a rather interesting audition in which she told him she wanted to see some real magic. (If that wasn't an innuendo he didn't know what was.)

Less than a year after that, they began a relationship. It was a mutual attraction, the spark was definitely there, and he had absolutely zero complaints about the way she always seemed to get riled up after a show, pushing him onto one of the magic trunks in the back room and having her way with him.

Honestly, he looked forward to that part more than the show itself.

This time he was stuck to the wall with knives pinned into scarves she'd tied around his wrists. Tonight's show had been particularly exhilarating. He'd done the Chinese Water Torture Cell for the first time-quite successfully, he might add- and while not as exciting as being buried alive-Emma still wouldn't let him try that- _you're not Houdini, Killian_ -it still gave him a rush, and apparently her too since she'd jumped him as soon as they were backstage, practically dragging him into the dressing room.

She'd taken his top hat that he still insisted on wearing-it made him look dashing, dammit-and placed it on her own head. He watched, attached to the wall, as she stripped out of her sequined costume until she was left in nothing but her stiletto pumps and the ribbon tied around her neck to resemble a bow.

He was straining against his bonds when she started stripping him, pulling his pants off, then his coat, leaving him in only the now wrinkled white shirt and colorful vest. (She liked that vest.)

And like many times before, she ran her mouth over every inch of him, making him squirm and cry out, struggling against the constraints on his wrists. When she finally reached over and placed a graceful hand on the knife he was ready to go ballistic. Standing on her tiptoes, she whispered in his ear: "The magic words, Killian."

"I love you."

He felt her smile against his ear as she pulled back, taking one knife with her. Before she could pull the other he was doing it for her. He flung it aside and crashed into her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her for all he was worth. No time was enough. A thousand times would not be enough. No magic trick, no escape could make his blood heat up, make his heart race like she could.

He lifted her, legs straddling him, and walked blindly to the nearest table, scattering the props off it with one hand, lips never leaving hers. Her head fell back, top hat tumbling to the floor and long blonde hair cascading down like a waterfall of precious gold.

When they broke apart, murmuring words of devotion and exaltation, his hand found hers, clasping it, feeling the warm band on her finger, smiling at the feel of it as her other hand found his and touched the matching piece of metal.

"For" kiss, "this" kiss, "next" kiss, "trick-"

"Killian?"

"Hmm," he breathed against her lips.

"Just do it."

"As you wish," he smiled, watching her slide back onto the table, green eyes mischievous, her hands never leaving his, before he climbed up after her.

And on the table, two hearts beating in tandem, they performed his favorite bit of magic.


	10. Perusing

_pe ' rooz (to read something in a thorough or careful way) Inspired by my favorite word and the fact that usually when my roommate and I go to the bookstore I mention something about perusing the aisles which, for whatever reason, she finds amusing._

"How long does it take to pick out a book?"

"Patience, Swan, I'm perusing." He pronounces the word in a drawn-out fashion and the _ruse_ part sounds like _rooze_.

"Okay. Please _peruse_ faster. We're picking Henry up today."

He gives her the look, the one that says _don't rush me while I browse the fine literature. You can't rush art._ They've been in this scenario enough times for her to know exactly what he's thinking.

She takes a book off a shelf, glancing at the cover and noticing the word ship. "Here's a book about ships...or something. Let's go." She hands it to him, beginning to walk back to the front desk.

He looks at the cover and laughs, a rich, melodious sound.

Turning around, hands on hips, she gives him her own look. " _What_?"

He flips the book around, showing her the cover which has some emoticons along with a couple of fictional characters inside a big heart. The title reads: _The Art of Shipping: Navigating Through Fandom and Finding Your OTP._

"I've no idea what this means but it sounds fascinating. Good catch, Swan."

She knows what it is. Bad news. Taking the book from him, she sticks it back where she thought she had found it.

"Bad form, love. What am I to read now?"

 _Just this once._ She turns around and walks over to a shelf that holds the R authors. Her fingers nimbly take out five and place them in a neat stack which she hands over to Killian.

"Percy Jackson and the Olympians," he reads aloud before turning what she thinks of as his puppy eyes to her face. "You remembered."

"How could I forget that Zeus brought you back?" She traced a hand over his cheek, watching his eyes flutter closed as he leaned in to her touch. "Anyway, they're technically kids' books but Henry's always talking about them and I may have read one or two…and well you're always mentioning Zeus and all that so I thought you might enjoy them. Now can we go?"

He smirks. "I see. Thank you, Swan."

"You're welcome." She takes his hook, the stack of books held under his other arm, and leads him to the desk. "I think I might enjoy more perusing."

"Oh?" He says as he hands a smiling Belle the books to be checked out.

Emma leans up and whispers in his ear. The expression on his face goes from amused to something full of heat and she laughs behind her hand as he urges Belle to hurry, that they have to go get Henry and then go perusing.


	11. Let's conspire to reignite

**Let's inspire to reignite all the souls that would die just to feel alive**

 __ _Starlight by Muse inspired this–everyone should listen to it. I'm thinking about turning this into a one shot that goes into more detail because this feels like a tease even to me. Hope everyone enjoys anyway!_

If someone asked Emma when she first knew Killian was the one, she would tell them it was when he showed up with his ship during a particularly bad battle with the republic, sporting a long leather coat, guyliner, a special brand of arrogance, and a very large blaster.

It was probably the sexiest thing she'd ever seen.

Their eyes had met across the battlefield, blue to green, and from then on they had been inseparable. She didn't like to call it love at first sight, but Killian had no problem labeling it as such.

And she knew after spending time with him, loving him, that she had been missing something before he came around. He was…electrifying. It was like her every nerve flared and blazed to life when he was around, and she never wanted to lose that sensation, or the ecstasy she found in his arms.

So when he had to leave on a mission and she was kept tethered by her duties at home, the separation was palpable, painful. It lasted months, with no word as to his whereabouts, and for far longer than he should've been gone. Everyone around her had given up hope but she couldn't. That would mean returning to that dull spark she had been before. Hope was a precious commodity, especially then, but she kept it close to her heart.

And during that last battle, the one that would determine the outcome of her home galaxy, she had looked up from the gore and met his eyes across the battlefield, lights igniting everywhere, macabre fireworks on display for everyone to see. And she had walked to him, taking down enemies in her wake, finally _finally_ crashing into his arms and kissing him, bringing herself to life with that touch. In that sea of death and destruction, they were alive.


	12. take me back to the start

_**Killian goes back in time to change a few things.**_

Killian blinked, dark spots clouding his vision from the impromptu tumble he'd just taken. He'd landed in a glade, a dark sky painting the horizon, the threat of a storm in the air. Groaning, he climbed to his feet, glancing around.

 _He should be here._

He heard the scraping of metal against bark and his head whipped around, focusing on the dark shape that leant against a tree.

"And who would you be, mate?"

 _He can't see me._

Killian held up a hand. "I'm here to talk. It's important."

He noticed the visible stiffening of the shoulders, the suspicion already rearing its head as Hook stepped out into the glade, blue eyes meeting blue, shock reflected in both.

 _Will I ever get used to seeing past versions of myself?_

"What the hell is going on?" Hook's hand immediately went to the cutlass strapped to his waist, hook poised to strike.

Killian held up both hands, as if in surrender. "There's no need for alarm, mate. I'm sure you're wondering exactly who I am. The short answer is I'm you from the future."

To Hook's credit, he didn't bat an eyelash. "Time travel. Of course. Why am I not surprised? Cora's idea, then?"

Killian shook his head. "Cora's dead in my time. Look, Regina's curse is about to hit this land and you need to be somewhere else when it does."

Hook spread out his arms, encompassing the forest they stood in. "I'm exactly where I need to be. Cora's magic will keep this part of the land protected. I've no intention of being swept up in the curse."

 _I knew he would say that. Then again, he is me._

"Looks like we'll be doing this the other way."

"What other w-" Fast as lightning, Killian pulled out the bag of powder and blew it into Hook's face. His past self groaned softly and started to slump to the ground. Killian caught him before he could fall, slapping his face lightly to make sure he was out.

He looked down at his face. "It's time to meet your true love."

This time it's an empty room with only one long, narrow window. He walked over, watching the purple smoke creep across the hills, it's destination the very castle in which he stood.

"Bloody hell." He had an hour at best before the curse took him along with everyone else.

 _Unless…_

He heard the screams coming down the hall, echoing against the stone walls. Leaning down, the hefted up Hook, draping him over his shoulder. Grimacing, he made his way down the corridor, trying to look as if he belonged amidst the scurrying servants and other castle dwellers. Everyone was too afraid of what was coming to notice him and the body he carried like a sack of flour.

After getting lost twice he finally found what he was looking for. He carefully carried his past self through the doors, ignoring the decor that littered the room. He found a bench set against one of the walls and propped Hook on it, his former self snoring softly all the while. He grabbed the largest items he could find-a stuffed bear and a large rabbit-and placed them in front of the place where the other him slept.

Pulling out a strip of paper he'd shoved into his pocket, he used a bit of kohl to scribble out a message, tucking it into his past self's pocket, right over his heart.

That was when he realized the screaming had stopped.

He crouched behind the wardrobe as the sound of steel clashing came closer. He watched David come into view, a bundle in his arms, and his heart gave a little leap at the sight.

 _Swan._

He observed David kissing his daughter's head, whispering to her: _find us_ , and Killian said a little prayer that she would find him too.

He nearly cried when he saw David stabbed, nearly revealed himself. He was already changing things, how much was too much? He couldn't risk anything else. He couldn't risk Emma.

And he did weep, in his heart, when he saw Snow cradling her husband's body, shaking with tears, only dissipating when Regina entered the room, taunting Snow and gloating in her victory.

He smiled with Snow: _you're going to lose._

He thought of the note he had left, a desperate attempt to change the course of fate.

 _If you're reading this, it means you're living in a town called Storybrooke. Find a boy named Henry Mills. Listen to what he has to say about the storybook. It's all true._

 _When a woman named Emma Swan arrives, stay by her side. Don't ever leave her. Protect her, believe in her, love her. She might give you trouble at first, but don't give up. She will come to love you too. And you will know happiness unlike any you've ever felt before._

 _Good Luck,_

 _Killian_

And when he met the startled blue eyes across the room, he was already gone, the purple smoke covering the space left in his wake.

 _ **I have no idea what I was trying to accomplish with this but hope everyone enjoyed it anyway!**_


End file.
